Date For Tea
by Zauberer S
Summary: Roy Winry, EdWin It's been ages since Winry last visited Central. Future!fic.


**a date for tea**

Winry wonders how a city changes; it's been a long time since she's come to Central and in her last visit she could still spot the subtle signs of reconstruction in its streets. The vague feeling of a city licking their wounds clean. It's like the stones remember the voices of the dead and gone, are cracked with their grief, but also, in their cracks, hope seeps through like water and, more than a sense of broken history, Winry feels the possibility of a future, it's a feeling that if not completely joyous it's somehow bright.

The whole city feels as if something could happen to it, good things, just by turning a corner.

And Winry turns a corner and a familiar but half-forgotten voice surprises her.

`Excuse me, miss. Are you by any chance the world-renowned automail mechanic Winry Rockbell?´

She turns in the direction of the voice; her body slightly tensed, a bit of alarm at having her name called in the middle of the street.

She sees a black car and in the back seat, already waving _hello_ and grinning like a much younger person, Roy Mustang. It takes her the tiniest part of a second to recognize him, and wonders exactly how many years since she last saw him, two? three? Winry smiles warmly and walks up to the car.

`Ah, Mister Mustang. What are you doing here? I thought you moved back to East.´

`I could ask the same of you, miss.´

`There were some special supplies we needed for the shop. I decided to come by myself so I could visit Al too.´

`I saw Alphonse Elric yesterday, yes. Competent as ever. Unlike his brother.´

Winry chuckles.

`So. Why are you visiting?´

Instead of an answer Roy leans into the front of the car and says something to the chauffeur, something Winry can't here. Then Roy opens the door to his side and gets out of the car.

Her offers his arm.

`I'll tell you over a cup of tea, if you'd like to come with me,´ he explains to her. `It would be a shame, to let a beautiful girl walk these streets alone, it's such a nice day.´

He says it with a smile that means that he is teasing her, and, at the same time, he is completely genuine, means every word. Winry blushes like an afterthought, and bows graciously, and accepts his offer, puts her arm around his.

xxx

The place is a small cute teahouse with walls the colour of dust in the sun; Winry likes it. Roy inquires about her tastes and recommends the best pick and orders for them, surprising her when he brings a fruit scone to their table.

The cups are decorated with tiny, hand-painted wildflowers.

Roy indeed tells her what he was doing in Central; Winry had heard, vaguely, from Ed and Al, that he had gone into some sort of teaching, for the new army, taking care of the lower ranks, something simple and unexpected. He is in Central for a weekend long training seminar that finished yesterday - `_something very boring_´ he dismisses it, in front of her, mumbling something about _don't know the importance of research_ and also _these idiot soldiers nowadays_ Winry thinks she hears, a joke that she gets, ironic and fake nostalgia because everything in the man's face (and in the streets, as she walked through the city) tells her that these are better days for all of them.

`It's all useless,´ he concludes. `But the government pays the trip and I get to see my mother.´

The candid grin takes Winry by surprise; it's a youthful notion, and she knows is very self-centered, the belief that adults don't have the kind of lives young people have. That they don't have parents, or a past, or the same type of concerns and hopes and everyday trials the next generation may have. Winry is aware of how little she knows about the man in front of her, someone that, for a time in her life, was so decisive to the lives of those she loved – although she didn't know it at the time, and she is not clear about the details now, reconstruction takes the place of memory and for now nobody sits and tells stories of those days. And even now, while she realizes how little she knows about Roy Mustang, Winry is confronted by the reality of it, the slight shock of hearing him say the word "_mother_".

`T-that's nice,´ she manages to say.

Winry, distracted, burns the tip of her tongue with the tea but tries to hide the grimace. Once it cools off a bit – she blows on it – she realizes the pleasant, quiet taste of strawberries of it.

`So, how's Fullmetal?´ Roy asks her, way too casually.

This time her blushing is not social convention or shyness; this times is a panicky, high-pitched voice in her head going WHAAAAAAAAAAAT? and for a moment it catches her breath. She looks around, as if searching for spies, or waiting for the whole city to gather in the café and point at her and laugh. That is the nature of her blushing.

Roy chuckles, obviously pleased with his capacity to cause her this harmless distress. The word Ed uses most often when describing Roy Mustang is "infuriating" and although Winry knows this is not quite what he means, she is tempted to agree with him just once.

`That's not t-´ Winry goes for blatant denial at first, but she feels guilty. Then she tries diverting the attention. `How did you-?´

But it doesn't quite come out, her cheeks feel even hotter as she tries to speak. She is not a little girl; she should be ashamed.

Roy shakes his head, a gesture of exaggerated disappointment. Disappointment in Winry, in the world at large.

`What a waste,´ he mutters, but loud enough so that Winry can't possibly miss a word. `Such beauty, and brains, to have to resigned herself to that brat... The world has gone mad indeed.´

`Please, Mister Mustang, don't say those things,´ the girl admonishes him. Roy laughs wholeheartedly.

But then the waiter comes with a refill for their tea and Winry feels grateful to be changing the subject. The sound of a small spoon clinking inside their cups. Roy's eyes never leave her, obviously amused but, luckily, not pressing the subject.

(Winry makes a mental note to ask Ed what they hell he's been saying and to whom, or maybe it's all Al's fault, yes, he is the type who gossips; or maybe it was all a lucky guess and she fell for Mustang's trap)

When Roy lifts the tea cup to his lips sunlight catches something and Winry notices; he is wearing a golden band around his finger.

She doesn't know how to ask. It's something natural and conversational and she can guess the answer but she feels too embarrassed to ask. Roy has always been nice to her and he has helped Ed and Al more than they probably let on but Winry doesn't have the familiarity to ask.

She tries to look away but Roy catches her looking at the ring.

He smiles and gives her a little nod.

She is not sure what that means, but she doesn't need to, she imagines it means something good.

xxx

They say goodbye outside, at the door of the café, a car already waiting for Roy there. The sun is still that kind of lazy, sweet noon light that warms the hearts as well as the skin. Winry loves it – it makes her think immediately of caramel and of the days of many an hour lost watching the shapes of the clouds with Ed and Al in her backyard.

Roy offers to give her a ride but she declines. Al's quarters are not far from here and she's rather walk. Roy says he understands.

`Don't worry about Alphonse,´ he tells her earnestly. `I've warned Fuery to take good care of him. Although, ah, I have such little authority with the youngters these days.´

`Al is very fond of his superiors,´ Winry replies.

`I'm very glad,´ Roy admits, something in his voice oddly vulnerable all of the sudden. Winry wonders if he ever worried that she thought the military had stolen Ed and Al from her; if he wonders if she still thinks like that, if he feels guilty about it. She would like to say something reassuring to him, but she knows they are not quite enough comfortable with each other, in a sense, for that, and she is shy and afraid to just be imagining things, reading too much into his expression – Ed's voice at the back of her mind, "_you think too much like a girl_".

`I'll tell Edward you asked for him,´ Winry says, finally, with a hopeful smile.

Distracted, lost in his thoughts, Roy takes a moment to react. He breaks into a malicious and boyish grin.

`Yes, yes, tell him we had a date, that should make him mad. _Now_ I am happy.´

Winry frowns.

`Ed is right, you really have a sick mind.´

Roy chuckles.

`I send him a letter or a telegram from time to time, to check if everything is alright,´ Roy says. `He never writes back. That's how I know he is okay.´

Winry blushes.

`Ah ha, yes, he is like that.´

And that's it.

They don't quite say goodbye properly. Roy gets in the car, muttering _what a shame, what a shame_ and shaking his head and Winry walks away in the opposite direction trying to look mad at his teasing but finding herself enjoying it instead, lips curled in a smile she hopes he can't see.

She makes a mental note that she should not let another two, three years before seeing Roy Mustang again.


End file.
